You Kiss Me Like You Know Inside Of Me
by Spooky Bibi
Summary: Theo has a plan for Scott's friends. Malia has a plan for the Desert Wolf. At that moment those plans are aligned and they team up, Theo leading them as they embark on this path of revenge. But who is in charge, really, and what do either of them want in the end? Those ulterior motives aren't compatible and there's only one way this can end. Badly, for one of them at least.


**Theo**

They say criminals usually make a very simple mistake, always the same, always fatal. They talk. They love to talk about themselves, about what they did and how they did it and why they did it. Of course it always comes back to bite them in the ass.

Theo knew about this but he happened to disagree. You could talk and get away with it, you just had to be smart about it. If you chose your words carefully, they didn't have to bury you.

(The buried part he had already tried, thank you dear doctors. Not his style if he had a say in it.)

There were two ways you could turn talking to your advantage. One, the Joker method: you flood your opponent under so much information, true and false, that they can't figure out what's what. It's also a distraction, so much fun to watch them trying to extricate themselves from the web of lies and half-truths.

He liked that one, but more often than not he would choose the other one, the subtle one.

You suggest. You hint. You share a few meaningful details but not the entire story. You tease. Then you shut up and let it unfold.

Because a more glaring truth than criminals selling themselves out all the time, is that people in general will assume a lot if you let them. They will do the work for you, they will create hard truths from almost nothing and roll with them.

…

It worked wonders with Scott's so-called pack. They made assumptions, panicked, split up. Distrust festered between them, blooming and growing like weeds in a garden. It was wonderful to watch. Staying on the sidelines, barely intervening, he managed to get everything he wanted without much effort. He got a fractured group, so easy to prey on. He could finally get them to join him, one by one.

He would start with the most approachable among them all, the coyote. The weakest link.

She was barely a pack member, barely integrated. Barely a friend to them, so recently human and accepted. And she was even weaker once he had managed to create a large wedge between Stiles and her, the only one who had any kind of claim on her, any real emotional influence. Scott had failed as her Alpha, neglected her. His loss.

She was exposed and therefore the obvious choice. Once she was in his pack, once he had her broken in and convinced, the others would follow, one by one, and the sky would be the limit.

…

He found her on the front porch of her house, sitting on the steps with her shoulders slumped and her face resolutely blank. As he neared the house, keeping his walk calm and non-threatening, he zoned in on her, focusing all his senses. She smelled the way he hoped she would. Sad, lonely. Bitter. Underneath it all, anger was simmering. Technically anger was always quietly present in Malia, but this time it was bubbling up, rising slowly to the surface.

Perfect. He couldn't have imagined a better frame of mind for a first attack.

"Hey," he said gently as he sat next to her, a tad too close. He sensed no disgust or fear, no refusal of any kind. Maybe she was too down to fight him but he felt it was more than that. He chose to believe it was acceptance. He had a chance, just then. The seeds he'd planted over the past few weeks had borne fruit at last. Now it was time to say more, to act more, to reap.

He didn't get a chance to, not at first. She put herself out there before he could talk.

"You said you wanted to help me with the Desert Wolf." She looked at him, awaiting an answer even if her tone didn't sound like a question. He simply nodded, leaning closer.

"Stiles… Stiles won't understand why I have to go, Scott won't help. So I need _you_ for this." She was wringing her hands on her lap, he simply had to reach across and rest his hand over hers, squeezing gently to calm her down. She let him and he smiled on the inside.

"You've got it." He made sure his eyes were as sincere as possible, his tone determined. She smiled, half a smile, but the wave of gratitude coming from her, so soft and sweet, spoke volumes.

She really was easy. Actually he had no idea it could be this easy.

…

As it turned out silence was golden, and the way to her heart. She stayed there, playing with his hand, telling him the details he needed. Everything, from the day her family died to the moment Scott brought her back, to her finding out about Peter, about the Desert Wolf.

More importantly she had her defenses down and he felt her emotions pour from her to him. Beyond the story he learned the abandonment. How isolated she always felt. The guilt. She felt like she wasn't good enough, strong enough, to be part of the pack or to protect people. She felt… tolerated, nothing more. She longed for more. She longed to belong and to be accepted.

"I need to get rid of her. I need a fresh start, without her threatening it," she said.

"I know how you feel." He too had cleaned his slate before coming back to Beacon Hills, a very messy business but he felt reborn, so free without any remaining ties. He understood loneliness too. But he didn't tell her any of it. It wouldn't have helped his cause and he wasn't the kind to share personal details with anyone. Not the real ones at least.

"We can do this, we can give this to you." He waited, let the silence make her look up at him. "We can find her and stop her before she gets here and destroys everything."

"I'm not sure there's much to save," Malia replied, her voice a scared whisper. "Everything is so messed up."

"There's _you_ to save. She wants to kill you. We can't let that happen."

"Like you'd care."

Another moment where it would best to keep quiet. He shrugged, threaded his fingers with hers, delicately. It was more effective anyway. Then she squeezed back, and not with the bruising force she would normally use on him. No, it was hesitant, soft, in need of comfort.

It was her being vulnerable and letting him in. The first breach in her hull.

He waited until he was a mile down the road, back on his way home, to let his smile explode. She was almost his, and she had no idea.

…

They packed their things, light travel bags, and headed south. Last they heard about the Desert Wolf was that she was in town, close. They knew she would be following them, they just needed to lead her away from the city. But then she vanished and they were stranded in Mexico, looking at crumbs of a trail and fighting to keep up with her.

They slept in crappy motels, ate in dubious diners then minuscule restaurants where they had to dig deep into their very limited Spanish knowledge.

He made a crack once that they looked like Thelma and Louise, as if they'd made it past the border, and she gave him a blank stare that led him to find the movie on Netflix. They watched it on her laptop, sitting side by side on the tiny, supposedly double bed. She fell asleep on his shoulder and he didn't wake her up once the movie was over. Not right away.

Sometimes he'd forget what his plans were with her. When she was eating food like a kid, when she too was _forgetting_ what they were trying to do, that they were going to murder a beast. She would be almost happy, sort of carefree, for a minute or two. She would laugh at his jokes and he would smile back and it wouldn't be faked.

It was admiration, in a way. She was gorgeous, natural and vibrant. So much energy inside that little woman. So much beautiful anger, too; a rage he loved.

One night they almost caught her, she slipped out of the club before they could cross through the sea of dancers. Malia channeled her frustration on a garbage container that resembled nothing by the time she was done with it, panting furiously and her hands bloody messes that were already healing. That was the first time that he truly felt it, that spike of desire in his blood. Something more than just interest in her.

So maybe getting to the Desert Wolf was taking longer than planned. Maybe he was enjoying his time around Malia too much. Maybe sometimes he would lose focus and just stare at her. But everything was still happening according to plan, she was still well on her way to falling into his grasp. Whenever they would find someone who'd heard of the Desert Wolf, seen her, who could lead them closer… The heat in Malia's blood, the rush in her heartbeat. He recognized that kind of excitement, it was as familiar as his reflection in the mirror. She was becoming that reflection. A true partner. A true killer.

But then… At night she would have nightmares, terrible ones given how they would send her thrashing around on the bed. He stood by the bed watching her shift in her sleep, growl, rip at the sheets. She was close to being angry enough to his taste, but she was tormented, hurt, terrified. He tried to focus on her rage.

He couldn't help it, couldn't explain it. After a while he stopped watching, instead climbed into bed with her and held her close so she would quiet down. She wouldn't wake up, but he would still whisper platitudes in her ear, stroke her hair. It meant nothing beyond another way to get to her. That's what he would tell himself. He needed her angry and focused and he was simply helping her get there. Taking the pain and the hurt away, falling asleep with her, it was part of the plan. Him adapting to the situation. Yes, that's what it was.

…

They found her in Guadelajara. She was waiting for them in the alley next to their motel. Poised for a fight, confident.

Malia lost her edge right then. The Wolf appealed to her soft side, pleaded that she simply wanted to reform their bond. "We can be a family again, Malia," she said, yet at the same time she was walking slowly around her, like a predator assessing her prey.

Personally he didn't fall for it and he made sure she wouldn't either. He stood right behind her, whispered in her ear words that would spur her on, to keep her on the right side of furious. Reminded her of what the Desert Wolf had done to her family, that blood meant nothing when it came to someone like this, someone like Peter.

"The only blood that matters is hers being spilled. Retribution, Malia." He smirked, kissed her cheek and pushed her forward. She staggered but stayed up and took the last steps herself, hands firm at her sides, claws extended.

"She killed your family," he reminded her, ignoring the roar coming from their enemy. "She wants to kill you. Never forget that. Don't let her manipulate you."

Of course he was manipulating her as well. But she wasn't conscious of it and he was smarter than the Wolf in his method. He was simply pushing her to do what she wanted the most. He wanted to see it too. Wanted to see the darkness flourish in her.

He didn't need to see her face to know that she was fully shifted. When she jumped at the Desert Wolf's throat, he knew she was also the right kind of angry. At last.

He didn't even need to intervene. She ripped her to shreds all by herself. It wasn't a fight, in the end, more like a massacre. Youth and fury overcame experience easily. It was beautiful. He'd enjoyed the slow and drawn out death of his sister playing out in front of him but this explosion of violence was just as gorgeous to watch.

It was all over. She had gotten what she wanted, revenge. He had what he wanted too. Someone like him, who would give in to the anger.

She turned around, letting the lifeless body of the Desert Wolf (what little of it was left) fall from her hands. She was eerily beautiful, hair wild, sweat shining on her face, claws and fangs still showing, her eyes a crisp blue. A Fury; gorgeous and terrible and to his image… She was so… Perfect. Perfect for him. It almost hurt how much he…

 _He wanted her to stay with him_. His mate.

Maybe for the first time he was taken by surprise, shocked by the intensity of this desire, this need to have her, in every way, forever.

He hadn't planned for this. He paled, thankful for the shadow of the alley covering his confusion. He watched her, silent and stunned, as she wiped her hands on her jeans and called for him to follow her back to the car. They needed to get away, and he needed to figure this out.

 **Malia**

She smiled and bowed her head low when Theo made his offer. She knew he would appreciate the touch, the vulnerability. He was easy. So easy to convince.

She needed that, someone she could persuade, someone on her side for once. Truth be told, she had been hanging on by a thread, and this last thread was tied to Theo.

There was no one else. Scott was too overwhelmed, Kira left, Lydia was busy with Jordan, and Stiles… Stiles was an inconsiderate idiot.

Then again they all were. Ignoring her, leaving her, thinking she couldn't help or get things done. She would show them. If Theo was the way to get what she wanted, then so be it. She was tired of fighting on her own. There was a lot of fighting left to do and it fell on her shoulders, hers alone.

Theo was what she needed. Ruthless, focused, a useful ally. If she was careful she could steer him in the direction she needed and together they could take _her_ down. _She_ was the last threat to her, to her pack. (Even all broken up it was still her pack, she would fight to salvage what was remaining of it.)

So he sat by her side, and she told him everything and let it all out. All the feelings, naked and at their purest form, all the memories, no matter how painful they were, she exposed it all. With someone as cunning and perceptive as Theo, nothing but the truth would work.

It worked so well. He was attentive and almost sweet and offered his help. Just as she wanted. His hand was so warm in hers, so gentle, she almost believed he was genuine.

After agreeing to meet her at the city limits the next night, he left, satisfied. He was talented at camouflage, but she was better at smelling his emotions that he thought. She smiled like he did, her grin wobbly but sincere. She was on the right path.

…

She soon found out that it was dangerous, this isolation. Nothing to do but be together. To talk, to share. To plot a revenge, to learn his skills, to show him hers, to try to come up with a plan. Those split shifts behind the wheel, to end up buying his favorite junk food and that root beer he liked best without thought.

Somewhere down the line she learned his favorite foods. She didn't want to but she did.

Then he made her laugh. She couldn't help it. She _shouldn't_ help it. If anything it helped her cause. But it was a slippery slope and she knew it. On her own she could make mistakes. She found herself more than once hoping for Lydia's sound advice, for Kira's strength, for Scott's instinct or Stiles' wit. For some help. But they couldn't be involved; this was her battle.

Still, it was hard to tell what was a step in the right direction for her plan and what was an unplanned move down a dangerous road. She needed perspective and from this close it was impossible to find it.

Like when she woke up in his arms and stayed there. When she rearranged his hair the next morning because it looked like a bird's nest and he couldn't make it normal again. He smiled like a good guy then, his smell was reminiscent of honey and spice cookies. He was trying to look up as she raked her wet fingers through the strands of hair and… She thought it was cute.

He was too enigmatic. She kept thinking she had him pinned down, all figured out, and with one moment like this one she felt like she had to reconsider everything. Even when she was scenting him, peeling back the layers of fake and pretend in his scent until she was reaching the real, dark and acrid truth, there was doubt. Maybe he wasn't entirely bad. Maybe he was getting better, or better at hiding himself from her. The problem was that she didn't know which one it was and that she was alone. No, lonely. And he was there all the time.

She would tell herself to be careful, because at those moments she would get so scared, so afraid that she would fall for him, that she was tempted to end it all at that moment. But she couldn't, not yet. Just the element of surprise wouldn't be enough to ensure her win over him. She needed complete trust, then she could make her move.

…

Stiles would text her every now and then. It hurt more than anything else, reading his carefully worded messages; messages that wanted to know about her and her whereabouts but didn't want to ask. She couldn't tell him a thing, couldn't blow him off either.

She just saved all the messages for safekeeping and rereading when she was alone in the dark of the night. So not very often but she could have those precious, grounding moments. They helped her remember why she was doing this and reminded her of who she could actually trust.

She just hoped she could get this done early enough so she could explain herself and he would be willing to listen to her. She needed him. He had his flaws but… He was her person. Hopefully he would still think of her as such and forgive her, because what she had to do was awful, but necessary.

…

She didn't remember much of the fight with the Desert Wolf. Theo whispering the words she couldn't dare to admit were true, his kiss, like a branding iron on her skin. His push, that she didn't really need but still felt to her core, as if him pushing on her shoulders was hammering the last nail in the coffin of her goodness.

Then it was just growling, blood, screams that ended in horrified gurgling. Eyes that lost their color and life so fast she could barely see it happening. All in a matter of seconds, even though it must have taken more time than that. It was like a blink. Blink, the Desert Wolf was sneering at her. Blink, her so-called mother was a mangled corpse at her feet. She stared, anger still boiling through her body like lava, and tried not to completely lose her mind then and there. This was murder, justified maybe, but murder nonetheless. The blood on her hands was burning more than guilt and anger together.

But she was gone. Malia was safe, her pack was safe. It was worth it. But it wasn't over.

She looked up, still panting, still reeling, and saw Theo looking back at her. His scent was different, his face was different. She smelled admiration, respect, surprise, and love.

She had him. For good.

"Let's go," she said between pants, and she headed for the car. They needed to leave before someone noticed them or the body lying on the ground.

…

She stopped on a deserted road, near the river, and washed off the blood and sweat quickly, changed clothes without caring for Theo a few steps away, his burning stare on her. She was trembling from the adrenalin. Brought up by what's to come just as much as by what she just did, but she knew he would only see it as what he wanted. She was still good to go and she found the strength to move forward with her plan.

A new motel, just as isolated as the others. She paid in cash, like always, and he followed her to the room, staying too close, mesmerized. She truly had him.

The second the door was closed it was locked and he was crowding her, his nose moving along her nape eagerly. She spun on her heels and almost lost her nerve, with his eyes so dark with desire, so dangerous, so close.

Last minute second-guessing. Was there another way? Should she have gone another path to gain his trust, instead of playing off his obvious and easily-lead attraction to her? Too late to wonder, she had to work with what was on the table now.

She gripped his face between her hands, pulled him in with that force she could so easily muster and kissed him, hard. A desperate move, she knew it, but it was time. Time to deal with this tension once and for all, to put it to its rightful use.

"I knew you wanted me," he whispered when she let him go, several long seconds later. "I knew it from the first day." He grinned, slid his hands into her hair, his thumb brushing her cheeks roughly, possessively. She let him, even arched her back into the move, pressing her breasts into his chest.

Her shirt was still wet from her recent dip in the river, still cold. That was why she was shivering, why her nipples were so hard. She wanted to believe as much, but when his nails dug into her head and pulled her lips back to his, she knew it was more than that. Cold and wet had nothing to do with the way she was responding to him.

 _He_ could do this, bring out an instinct in her she didn't know she had. Or rather, a side she was trying to forget she had. The animal, the rage, the impulsive coyote who just wanted. It was frightening to feel the loss of control. But in this case she needed it. It was a means to an end.

She just needed to remember that. A means to an end, nothing more. She needed to get closer, it was the only way. She had to go through with it.

So she let him wrap one arm around her waist, holding her close to his body. She let her fingernails rake down his back, let him kiss her ferociously, let his tongue slip inside her mouth and let herself kiss him back.

He was skilled, she had to give him that. Skilled and confident and strong. She let him push her towards the bed, she kicked her shoes off and let him sneak his hands under her denim skirt.

It was easy. He was good at this, but then again so was she.

"You like this?" he asked, his fingers finding their way past her underwear, daring and quickly getting to the point. He grazed her clit with just one teasing index finger.

"Yes," she breathed out, eyes closed, head thrown back against the pillows.

Easy. So easy to let him touch her and have him believe she was just as into it as he was. Too easy. She clawed at his shirt until it was torn to nothing, then at his back, until he stopped and got off to remove all his clothes.

"Better," she said, breathless. She summoned her best smile and beckoned him. "Fuck me, Theo, come on. I need you, I want you," she whispered and he smirked, eyes flashing gold before he fell back on top of her. She wound arms and legs around him and urged him in. When she felt him enter her, fill her completely, her moan was unbridled, loud and genuine. Just for a second she liked it, _fucking loved it_. But she didn't let him win this, no she closed her eyes to distance herself and reminded herself to stay the course.

She kissed him like she knew he would like it, roughly and mercilessly. She lifted her hips to meet his thrusts like he would expect her to. She moaned when he sped up, planted her blunt fingernails deeper in his shoulders when she felt his teeth on her neck, biting without breaking the skin.

She knew what to do, how to react. When he was close, when his hold tightened on her hips, she got louder, more vocal, breaths quicker. He was talented, she had to give him that much. The fire building in her belly was real. The thrumming in her core that kept getting more intense, that was real too.

But she ignored it all. She had something to do. "More, Theo, more," she whispered loudly. She hiked her legs higher on his back, wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.

A praying mantis grip. A foreshadowing move that escaped him entirely.

She was so close, so damn close. "I love it, I love…" She bit her lip, threw her head back, willing it all away. This was just to make him trust her entirely, to be weak and vulnerable and open. She was not supposed to enjoy it. Not supposed to enjoy it, on any level.

Then he stopped moving, his mouth right over her pulse point, trembling lips on her skin.

She loosened her grip, just a little. She looked down and found herself suddenly locking eyes with Theo, his own eyes dark and… scared? No. More like surprised, astounded. Amazed. Again with that look that destabilized her.

"You mean it?" he asked, his mouth sending shivery puffs of air on her sweaty skin.

She nodded, unwilling to risk more with words. She said too much already, was walking on too fragile a rope at the moment.

He grinned, a smile widely different from any others she ever saw on his face, and with a strong push he flipped them over so she was straddling him. "Show me how much you want it," he said. His hands were just balancing her, he was still buried deep inside of her but not moving an inch. Letting her be in control.

This could be the moment. But she wasn't ready, he wasn't there yet. She was too much in the open. No other choice but to push forward, or in this case, grind down.

She put her hands on his chest and started to dictate the rhythm. Slow, deep, meaningful. On the outside at least. She rolled her hips with fast moves, her legs a strong support. She tossed her hair away from her face and fell forward, kissing along his jawline.

His hands ran up her sides, down her arms, until their fingers could entwine. She slowed down, lifted her head so she could look into his eyes, see his intentions.

"What," she said, panting. "Am I – Am I going too fast or…?"

"I love you, Malia," he breathed out. "I… I do, I love you and I had to tell you." He was grinning, a blissed out, gorgeous smile.

She didn't think it was gorgeous. Not really. But she smiled as well, leaned forward and kissed him like she should now, gently. Lovingly. To convince him once and for all.

She kept riding him, hands clasped, kisses being traded more and more as their passion grew and her pace picked up. It was time to get it done and over with and she was trying to do so without breaking character.

"I love you too. You helped me so much, you _get_ me," she whispered against his lips. Anything to help him get there faster.

She felt his breath hitch in his throat, his hands spasms on her. He came with a strangled moan that made her smile and almost, almost sent her over the edge as well.

"Yes, yes, so good," she breathed out as she kept moving to make him fully come down.

She hated that. That she wasn't lying, not entirely. That a part of her meant every word, that it came from that basic part of herself that she'd been fighting for so long, that she would always be fighting.

Not tonight. Tonight she would let it reign over her, take over like he wanted. She would let the rage flow through her veins, even more freely than when she killed the Desert Wolf.

She did just that. Let her eyes shine their brightest blue, let her brutality come through her hands and voice.

"I am just like you, Theo. So strong. The strongest, the most powerful." She straddled him, let him slip out of her and looked into his eyes that were so bright with... what could be love, in his mind. There was a tiny hint of confusion as well. She had to act fast.

"But unlike you it's not fabricated, the result of an experiment. It's who I am. Which is why you won't be able to win here."

She wrapped her hands around his neck before he could kick her off and let her thumbs rub gently over his Adam's apple. "Fight if you want. We both know I'll come out on top." Then she started squeezing. Her muscles were ready, her mind too, and she didn't falter. Kept crushing his neck between her palms, her claws digging into his flesh and sending droplets of blood flying. His fault, really. He just didn't have to move so much. She planted her knees more solidly into the mattress, didn't budge until he stopped flinging his arms around, until he stopped screaming and growling, until his legs stopped moving.

Then she kept strangling him for another hour. Just to be sure. She kept the pressure long after all light had disappeared from his eyes, long after the only sound in the bedroom was her own heavy breathing.

Just to be sure.

When she actually removed her hands from the mangled mess that was Theo's neck, she still wasn't completely sure. She jumped away and curled away in the corner, knees up, arms around them, eyes still trained on Theo's body.

"He's dead," she told herself, out loud to make it as real as possible. "He's gone. Can't hurt us anymore. He's dead."

She took a ragged breath and pushed the hair away from her face. "Okay, okay." Despite shaky legs, she got up and picked up her clothes, retreating to the bathroom slowly. It was over. She had to clean the room and get rid of his body. This one could be traced back to her.

Alone in the shower she scrubbed and cried and scrubbed again, until there was no more traces of Theo to remove, no more tears to shed. She didn't feel any better but she was ready to do what was needed so she could go home.

After all of this was over, she could go back with peace of mind. A lot of shit to deal with, a lot of memories to try and forget. But she wouldn't have to fear for herself, for her friends. It was all worth it.

…

She tossed the bag on Scott's desk. "Here. His laptop, his phone, everything I could get from him. It should give us a lot of information about the Dread Doctors." She looked away from the worn, tattered backpack. It still had specks of blood on it, she knew it.

Scott realized it immediately, not even needing to get closer to smell it. His face fell, got that tired, resigned look she was unfortunately all too familiar with. He would never like the more radical approach, even with a guy like Theo who nearly broke him and everyone he cared about. Another reason why she had to take care of it.

"And Theo himself?" he asked. He didn't look at her.

She squared her shoulders. "He won't be a problem anymore."

Stiles was already tearing through the bag, pulling out the electronics and turning them on. "Good riddance," he said under his breath. He glanced up and she looked back. No smile exchange, not yet, but she felt his empathy. Stiles was terrible at hiding his chemosignals.

"I'd say," she replied, shivering despite her best efforts.

They went through the computer and the phone, compiling the conversations, the research. A goldmine of information. It was all worth it. They had a location, details on their history. Everything they could need to figure out how to defeat them.

It was worth it. She wasn't broken, she was back. Stiles was at her side, Scott was welcoming her. It was worth it.

Stiles pushed the phone away on the table and leaned back on his chair. His hand was loose by his side and she grasped it cautiously, threading their fingers together when she was sure he wouldn't be taking it away.

"What…" He stopped, licked his lips and sighed. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "That I wasn't…"

"Don't. It's better you weren't there, that you weren't involved." Maybe that wasn't true, but she would never be able to know for sure.

"I'm still sorry. You must have … It must have been horrible for you." His hand grew a little sweaty in hers. "What you must have had to do…"

She froze, for a second only. She was stronger than all of this. "You said it. I did what I had to do."

 _And you don't want to know what that entailed_. She could still feel Theo's mouth on her and she couldn't imagine telling Stiles. Something, his tone, his heartbeat, told her that he already knew anyway. Or guessed. There wasn't a million different ways she could have gotten close to him, and they all knew he had a soft spot for her.

"It's okay." He paused, not hesitated exactly but rather made sure she was listening. "It's over," he said firmly. "We're gonna be okay. Together." And he was the one to tighten the grip this time.

That was all she needed to hear.


End file.
